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Aug. 31st, 2005 11:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageFirst-ever post typed on the new laptop, on which I am such a n00b.
Math is better because I had to work for it.
I am like a shitty company, presenting the world a clean, polished image with illusions of success and accessibility. How may I help you? I accommodate them all. I think about the sea turtles. I follow the rules. Yet beneath the surface, I work. I'm a mess. I'm probably corrupt, but I don't like to think about that. I'd be so much worse off if I did...
Keaton hates everyone, especially if they're not on speech. Gina hates me. I resent Gina for being so happy and confident, but I respect her. Yes. Through my teeth, I grunt my approval.
The Office makes me feel clean and useful.
What's his story? High five. The shoulder thing. Sit next to me and a hand casually brushes against my thigh in the downward movement of a pendulum weighted by 27 bones and a mass of tissue under tanned flesh. It better have been an accident. I love personal space.
Other people need deodorant. I tolerate it.
Lucie is hilarious, Visual Basic is the highlight of my day other than late-night PVSpeech. I am a sad wallaby. Silly people are hilarious. I hope Martin is okay. His eyes look like those of a dog. I dislike dogs, but that's beside the point. No animosity toward Kenny. A high voice said my name, I realised it came from right in front of me. Yes, it's my laptop.
Not recognising Tay of all people, Barylski standing right in front of me. Bonjer, of course. Quel fill-intheblank. L'amour coffre-fort.
Happier at Howie's, forgot my makeup, sneeze on my shirt, nose continues to run.
Where is In-di-an-ap-olis?
Dutterer made a girl cry. I'm like that.
Multiple clubs. Acceptance.
Juxtaposition of the bare ideas.
THIS IS NOT A NARRATIVE
phew.
gotta chase grandma woolf
Math is better because I had to work for it.
I am like a shitty company, presenting the world a clean, polished image with illusions of success and accessibility. How may I help you? I accommodate them all. I think about the sea turtles. I follow the rules. Yet beneath the surface, I work. I'm a mess. I'm probably corrupt, but I don't like to think about that. I'd be so much worse off if I did...
Keaton hates everyone, especially if they're not on speech. Gina hates me. I resent Gina for being so happy and confident, but I respect her. Yes. Through my teeth, I grunt my approval.
The Office makes me feel clean and useful.
What's his story? High five. The shoulder thing. Sit next to me and a hand casually brushes against my thigh in the downward movement of a pendulum weighted by 27 bones and a mass of tissue under tanned flesh. It better have been an accident. I love personal space.
Other people need deodorant. I tolerate it.
Lucie is hilarious, Visual Basic is the highlight of my day other than late-night PVSpeech. I am a sad wallaby. Silly people are hilarious. I hope Martin is okay. His eyes look like those of a dog. I dislike dogs, but that's beside the point. No animosity toward Kenny. A high voice said my name, I realised it came from right in front of me. Yes, it's my laptop.
Not recognising Tay of all people, Barylski standing right in front of me. Bonjer, of course. Quel fill-intheblank. L'amour coffre-fort.
Happier at Howie's, forgot my makeup, sneeze on my shirt, nose continues to run.
Where is In-di-an-ap-olis?
Dutterer made a girl cry. I'm like that.
Multiple clubs. Acceptance.
Juxtaposition of the bare ideas.
THIS IS NOT A NARRATIVE
phew.
gotta chase grandma woolf
